


The Poet and the Painter

by themysteriouslover



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: 1870 au, F/F, Portrait of a Lady on Fire vibes, Raelle is a poet, Scylla is a painter, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themysteriouslover/pseuds/themysteriouslover
Summary: Scylla is the cocky, progressive city girl and Raelle is the angry southern convert. Drawn together by the arts, they form a close bond that is thrown into turmoil amidst two families' age-old feud.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83





	1. A Journey to Georgia

**Author's Note:**

> Let's get ready to RAYLAAAA

Scylla stared out of the window of the carriage at the endless fields of cotton and tobacco. Sweat dripped off her brow in the summer heat, and her formal clothes weren't helping. She wasn’t used to the heat and humidity. Her gloves felt itchy and tight and her more conservative dress meant more heat trapped on her legs. The biting cold of a Massachusetts winter called for layers, but in the summer Scylla would don a light shirt and pants. Most people didn’t seem to mind as long as she was covered in paint. Heading deeper south was something Scylla never thought of doing. She may as well have been traveling to a foreign country. She was going to stick out like a sore thumb. 

The carriage hit a dip in the road, and Scylla’s painting supplies jostled around in their case. Scylla was very thankful for this job, even though it was a long way from home. Photography had stepped up to take her place, videography seemed to be following. The old fashioned ways of the South was what brought her to Georgia. She received a letter requesting she paint a portrait of a young woman. The commision price was what motivated Scylla to pack up and head down to Dixie. The commissioner mentioned knowing Scylla’s mother and father at one point. Her mother and father fell ill and died when Scylla was still young. She grew up in the care of her aunt who taught her to paint. 

“Remember, Scylla dear, the Ramshorn legacy rests with you.”

That always made her feel important, but in retrospect, putting that on a child wasn’t the smartest. Scylla put all of her time into her art. People tended to have very distinct reactions to her work. Scylla loved to paint death. Death in all its forms. Personified, real, and characters known to be dead. She painted the world as she saw it. Dead and cold. Her surprise at the commission came partially from knowing her reputation in the art world. But a favor is a favor. 

Scylla leaned back and let her head rest on the back of the seat. She closed her eyes and sighed. She felt sticky from the sweat, the sun from the window was starting to redden her skin, and she was starting to get a headache from the heat. She had no idea how much longer the ride to the plantation would take. She closed her eyes, and tried to get some sleep.

* * *

“Ms. Ramshorn?”

Scylla was jolted awake by the carriage driver calling her name. She felt slightly disoriented and sweatier than before. 

“We’ve arrived.”

She got a good look at the house before her. It was huge and elaborate. It’s architecture of a neoclassical style. Pillars rose out of the ground to hold its roof. Scylla could see the heat sizzling off of the roof. The white stone reflected blinding sunlight. The building looked hot. 

Scylla startled to wrestle with her suitcase and supplies inside the carriage. They somehow seemed heavier than when she left. In her struggle she smacked her head in the door frame. 

“Ow. Shit.”  
“Do you need some help?”

Scylla looked over her shoulder to see a well dressed gentleman standing behind her. He must have been one of the staff. 

“I’m Gerit Buttonwood, the footman. May I offer my services?”

Scylla just gawked at him for a second. It was interesting to see how this family maintained their wealth through everything. Scylla was able to experience the pain first hand in the city. It was going to be nice not to worry for a while. 

“I would greatly appreciate help. Thank you.”

Scylla stepped to the side, and Gerit started to retrieve her luggage. 

“I’m Scylla Ramshorn, by the way.”

She could hear him chuckle as he removed her luggage. 

“Ms. Ramshorn, I know who you are.”

He started walking towards the house with Scylla in tow. The closer she gets to the house the more detailed the façade gets and the more agitated her nerves get. The door is luxurious and heavy looking, but Gerit opens it easily even with the suitcases. 

The foyer is decadent, but, to Scylla’s relief, very cool. The marble floors and high ceiling most likely help with that. A fancy chandelier hung from the ceiling. It had fancy glass crystals draped all around it. There were suits of armor standing near the end of the foyer like solemn guards and medieval hung upon the walls. Scylla felt as if she had just walked into a museum. There were some weapons she could not quite place though, namely, a strange curved dagger and a whip looking weapon. 

“Ms. Ramshorn, I presume.”

Scylla, again startled by the sudden materialization of another servant. He stood looking at her impatiently. He stood as if he had somewhere to be. 

“I am Adil the butler. Ms. Alder is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

So that was her mysterious commissioner’s name. Feeling unprepared, Scylla started gesturing semi-wildly at the multiple doors which branched off of the foyer. Adil looked at her confused at first but became annoyed. He nodded towards the door to the front left. He retreated towards the stairs rather quickly. 

“Thank you!” Scylla called after him. She was unsure if he heard her. She turned towards a large mirror on the wall and made a few last minute adjustments to her appearance. She straightened her dress and secured some loose strands of hair. Exhaling, she curses the need to wear a corset. Finally, she pushed on through the door. 

An older woman lay casually on a couch reading a book. She was dressed casually for the day, and Scylla felt overdressed and slightly foolish. Alder didn’t notice Scylla’s presence. She craned her neck to see the title. For the third time that day, Scylla was startled. Alder snapped her book closed and placed it on the side table. She was reading Demons by Dostoyevsky. 

“Sit.” A simple command and a gesture towards a chair. Scylla quickly obeyed and sank into the lush chair. She impulsively started running her hands along her legs. 

“Stop that incessant fidgeting.”

Scylla immediately sat up rigidly and clasped her hands together to keep them from moving. Something about this woman just unnerved her. Being around her felt similar to being in the New Orleans graveyards. Scylla had travelled there once to paint. Everything felt ancient and musty. Scylla usually enjoyed that type of environment, but one of the graves, the grave of a prominent voodoo priestess, made her feel uneasy. Like there was a raw, ancient power housed in her very bones. Scylla felt that same power in Alder. 

“Now. We haven’t been properly introduced. I am Sarah Alder, owner and proprietor of this estate.”

“I’m Scylla Ramshorn. I’m a painter.”

“Yes, I know that. You are here for that very reason. Tally, stop loitering by the door.”

Scylla looked over her shoulder to see an adorable redhead standing in the doorway holding a platter with tea on it. She blushed and crept into the room placing the tray on the table between Alder and Scylla. She started to serve the tea, and Alder gestured lazily at her. 

“This is Ms. Tally Craven, the ladies maid and, well, general maid.”

She turned to Scylla and beamed. 

“Hello! You must be the painter! It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

She curtsied enthusiastically. Scylla just nodded at her. She was uncomfortable in many ways. This girl reminded her of a puppy. She cleared her throat. 

“I’m Scylla Ramshorn.”

“Scylla. That’s a beauriful name. Isn’t it Greek?”

“Uh…”

“Tally, thank you for the tea,” Alder interjected. 

She turned towards Alder, again a pale shade of red. Understanding the veiled meaning of Alder’s words, she nodded and left. 

Alder took a long sip of her tea and placed it back on the table with grace and ease. Scylla, on the other hand, could hear her cup rattling against the saucer in her hands, so she resigned to leaving her tea resting on the table. 

“Let’s talk business, Ms. Ramshorn.”

“Please, just Scylla.”

“Scylla, I’ve brought you here to paint my niece Raelle.” 

She swiveled towards a large portrait of a stony looking man over the fireplace. What caught Scylla’s attention was why they would ever need a fireplace. 

“That was my great-great-grandfather. Every single member of my family who lived in this house has a portrait. Raelle will be no exception.”

Scylla took a more careful look at the painting. The composition, the colors, the brushstrokes, the texture, the light, all stood out to her. 

“Would you like a replication of that style?”

“I want to see what you can do.”

Artistic freedom. The greatest blessing that can be bestowed upon any creator, but scylla couldn’t know what she wanted until she met her subject. Raelle. It wasn’t a traditionally southern name. 

“I believe you and Raelle should get to know each other.” 

Alder rang a silver bell on the side table, and Adil appeared eerily quickly. 

“Fetch Raelle, please.”

Adil nodded and retreated back out of the room. Alder must have exhausted her conversation as she returned to reading her book and casually sipping tea. Scylla felt very uncomfortable. 

Then the door opened. 

Scylla turned to see Raelle; the first thing she noticed was her eyes the color of clear lake with visibility through to the bottom. Those eyes were staring right at her. And in her eyes there was curiosity, defiance, and anger.


	2. A Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to see Raelle's side of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be stupid

Creativity cannot be rushed, so why was she trying? Raelle stared at the blank page of her notebook trying to get the words clogging her stream of consciousness out of her head. She could feel beads of sweat sliding down the back of her neck as she tapped her pencil on the table. 

Heat. Heat. Heat.

The word swirled around her head. 

Orange. Red. Haze. Sweat.

Words. Words. Words. 

Raelle slammed her pencil down and rubbed her temples. She felt as if her head was on fire. Acclimation to the heat was, well, on a slow burn. 

Raelle missed Indiana. She loved the freedom of farm life. Her mom and dad didn’t care what she did as long as she got her chores done. She’d get looks from people when she walked barefoot through town covered with dirt in her overalls, but it didn’t matter. She was just a farm girl. A few summers ago, Raelle’s mother died on their farm from tuberculosis. Her father wanted her to have the best upbringing possible. He thought with her mother gone he wasn’t enough, so he sent her to Alder. 

Alder was her mother’s friend from when they were children. She would tell Raelle stories about all the trouble they would get into. Raelle wished she could find someone like that, but she’d always been a loner. She found solace in her poetry. It was her mother who taught her the beauty of words, and how they can capture even the deepest inklings of the soul. Raelle thought that was beautiful.

But now, staring at a blank page, Raelle felt there was no way to convey her ideas. She scratched at the neckline of the dress she was wearing. She hated the thing with such a raw fury. Alder made her wear it because a “visitor” was coming. Raelle assumed it was another suitor. Alder, it seemed, wanted her gone. She never took an interest in any of her proposed suitors. They all bored her. She looked at them and there were no interesting words that came to mind. Alder was always furious when they left with no inclination to actually marry Raelle, but Raelle didn’t mind. Alder always reminded her of storm and fury. Raelle could weather a storm. The door behind her opened.

“How are you doing, Ms. Collar?”

“Tally.”

“Sorry! I have to practice. Alder got really mad when I called you Raelle.”

“Ugh she’s so old fashioned.”

“I think it can be refreshing sometimes.”

“Really.”

Tally just laughed at her. Raelle rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t conceal her slight grin. Tally waltzed into her room and plopped down on one of her chairs. 

“I think you’ll be glad to know that there isn’t a suitor coming.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a painter.”

Now that was new. Alder had been talking about her getting her portrait painted, but she never actually brought someone in to do it. She had seen Alder talk with painters, but she was never allowed to meet them. Alder always sent them away. She wondered if this would be any different. Raelle always wanted to meet a painter. They did with brushes what she did with words. 

“Shit.”

“What?”

“They’re gonna be here soon. I better get the tea.”

With that, Tally left, and Raelle was alone again with her words.

* * *

Raelle had grown restless. She could hear the muffled sounds of talking in the drawing room, but she knew Alder would get pissy if she tried to listen in. Raelle just groaned and flopped on her bed. If she was the one to be painted shouldn’t she pick the artist? Alder obviously didn’t think so. She hated calling her “Aunt Alder”. She wasn’t related to her and didn’t want to be, but people thinking she was related was important somehow. It made her feel like her family was something to be ashamed of. 

In the quiet of her room, Raelle missed her mom. Moments like these came and went less frequently now, but they always hurt. The only thing of her mother’s she was allowed to bring was a sapphire pin. The pin was macabre in its own way. The sapphire was held by a bird's foot. Raelle was forbidden from wearing it, but having it gave her solace. 

She heard a few quick raps on her door, and she immediately knew it was Adil. He was always very curt with people he didn’t know. That usually wasn’t an outstanding quality for a butler, but Alder seemed to love watching her guests squirm when the butler treats them as if they were old news. He took some time warming up to Raelle, but once he did, he would crack jokes like a maniac. Recently, though, he had been irritable. His sister was sick. 

“Come in,” Raelle mumbled. 

“Ms. Alder would like you to meet the guest.”

Raelle bolted up with excitement. Finally, Alder seemed to have picked someone. Raelle tried to not look as if she didn’t care and followed Adil down the stairs. She felt herself get more nervous with each step. 

_Why am I even nervous? WTF?_

Adil opened the door for her and she stepped inside the drawing-room. Then she laid eyes on the painter. 

Raelle was immediately captivated. She never thought Alder, with all her old fashioned traditions, would hire a woman painter. Raelle just stared, observing every little detail. Raelle would often do this to people she found interesting, but it was unnerving to see the painter doing it back. They seemed to be locked in a battle of detail. Who could find out more with just their eyes. Eyes. 

Eyes.   
Eyes.   
Eyes!  
Those eyes!

Raelle had never seen anything like them. They were so blue it felt like they drained the blue from the world. So greedy were her eyes that the sky turned gray. 

“Raelle, this is Scylla. Scylla, Raelle.”

Scylla.   
Scylla.   
Greek.   
Sea monster.   
Ocean.   
Mystery.   
Beauty. 

“Raelle, it’s rude to stare. Please, sit.”

Forced to turn her head away, Raelle slumped on one of the chairs. Alder glared at her, so Raelle rolled her eyes and sat up. She could see Scylla smirking out of the corner of her eye. 

“Now then, I believe you two should get to know each other,” Alder said standing up from the couch. She glared at Raelle again. 

“Behave.”

Alder left the room quickly and quietly. Raelle couldn’t help but scowl at her as she was leaving. She heard Scylla try to conceal a giggle. Something about this girl made her feel at ease. She seemed like she understood a part of Raelle no one else could. 

“She’s not really my aunt.”

“Oh?”

“She makes me call her that for appearances.”

“So I assume you’re not from around here?”

“No.”

Scylla quirked her eyebrow at her. She clearly wanted more information than Raelle was willing to divulge. She liked to keep everything close and tight around strangers, and even though this one seemed different, the rules still applied. 

After a few moments of silence, Scylla resigned to move away from the point. 

“For this portrait, what do you want to do?”

“What?”

“How would you picture it?”

Raelle was baffled for a second. She never thought about this before. She knew Alder wanted her portrait painted, but it never crossed her mind that she’d get to pick what it looked like. 

“I think I’ll get back to you on that.”

Scylla leaned towards Raelle, and Raelle instinctively shifted her weight forwards as well. She could hear Scylla’s breath, and she was lost again in her eyes. 

“I’ll be waiting,” Scylla whispered. Before Raelle could react, Scylla stood and headed towards the door. 

“I better get settled in. Nice to meet you, Raelle.”

Raelle couldn’t muster the will to move. She was still processing. Something about Scylla made her feel fuzzy. The way she said her name drew her in. She almost thought that Scylla was flirting. Almost. How rich would that be?

* * *

Raelle stared at the paper exhausted. It was late, and she couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts were swimming around her head, and she had to let them out. She couldn’t stop thinking about dinner and how Scylla kept sneaking glances at her, and when she caught Raelle doing the same, she would just smirk at her until Raelle broke eye contact. The conversation at dinner was light at best. Simple small talk between Raelle, Scylla, and Alder. Still, the way Scylla kept saying Raelle’s name messed with her head. She had to get this out of her head. 

_  
Poseidon’s jealousy  
Are the flawless sapphires   
Which only you posses_

_More alluring than sirens  
Your personal ocean  
Calls to me and pulls me in_

_I am drowning in your grandeur_  
I refuse the air God provides  
My only air will come from you 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments and kudos help me tHrIVe. <3


	3. Slice and Dice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our girls get to slicing and dicing in their own ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I can’t write dialogue :)

Scylla stared at the canvas in front of her. It was blank. Full of ideas and potential just waiting to be realized. It was late, so Scylla had no real intention of painting, but the image was being built in her mind. Truthfully, meeting Raelle felt like someone threw a cold bucket of water over her head. How nice in the hot weather. She was expecting a spoiled southern lady who would sit for a proper portrait, but what she got, well, Scylla didn’t think Raelle would even be able to sit still. It was refreshing. She saw something in Raelle she hadn’t seen in anyone else, especially her previous painting subjects. She was like the first breath you take after emerging from a cold lake. Scylla felt as if her lungs were in fire. A good kind of fire. 

Restless, Scylla retrieved her personal sketchbook. She lit a candle and cracked open the pages. Covered in random ideas and fleeting thoughts, her sketchbook was her diary. Her most recent sketch of a particularly fascinating mushroom she saw when her carriage stopped for the night at an inn. Scylla loved mushrooms and fungi. To her, they were full of energy and potential. They were her future. 

Scylla grabbed her pencil and began to sketch. Her hands moved as her subconscious commanded. Only when the image began to form did Scylla see what she was drawing. She was drawing Raelle. More precisely, she was drawing the way Raelle looked at her. That inquisitive look full of curiosity asking Scylla to divulge all her secrets Scylla had burned just behind her eyes. The thought of it stole her breath from her lungs. 

Scylla hastily closed her notebook. She realized she was breathing heavily. Flustered, Scylla returned the book to the bedside table. Something about her own thoughts felt illicit. Exhausted, Scylla collapsed into bed banishing those thoughts from her mind.

* * *

The morning arrived too quickly in Scylla’s opinion. She was awoken by a sharp ray of sun slashing through the curtains. All she could do was groan and smack a pillow over her head. Once she started falling back to sleep, she was jolted back awake by a knocking on the door. 

“Ms. Ramshorn? Are you awake?”

It was Tally behind the door. Even in the morning she seemed to have so much energy.

“Unfortunately,” Scylla groaned.

“May I come in?”

Scylla just grunted in affirmation. She heard the door open, and Tally bounced in. Scylla peered at her from underneath the pillow, so Tally laughed at her. 

“Not a morning person, huh.”

Scylla sat up and rubbed her eyes as Tally opened the curtains. Scylla hissed when the morning light poured in. 

“Geez, your almost as bad as Raelle, I mean-”

“Yeah, I don’t care about etiquette at all. I won’t tell Alder.”

Tally seemed relieved by Scylla’s outlook on things. Scylla thought treating people like they weren’t good enough to even say your name was stupid. Still blinking the sun out of her eyes, Scylla stumbled over to her suitcase and all the objects that had been thrown on the floor. Scylla started picking through pieces of clothing settling on a light blue linen dress. She got dressed lazily and brushed her hair. Feeling adequately put together, Scylla followed Tally to the dining room for breakfast. 

When she entered the room, she saw Raelle looked exactly like she felt. It was a sight. She looked so miserable and angry. That girl might fight the sun. 

“You don’t look so hot,” Scylla said.

“Oh hardy har. Get a mirror.”

Raelle was stirring her oatmeal absentmindedly, so she didn’t notice Scylla staring at her. Alder was nowhere to be seen, and the staff was in the kitchen. Raelle and Scylla were alone again. Scylla loaded a huge glob of oatmeal on her spoon and shoved it in her mouth. The chef had obviously known what they were doing. The oatmeal was full of fruits and nuts that blended together perfectly. While she was inhaling her breakfast, she heard Raelle start to cough and choke with laughter. “You eat like my dad,” Raelle snorted. “Sowry,” Scylla replied with chunks of half chewed oatmeal falling out of her mouth. “Groooss,” Raelle replied throwing her napkin at Scylla. Scylla gulped down her last bite and grinned at Raelle who rolled her eyes. 

“Have you thought about how you want to paint me?”

Scylla looked at Raelle with an inquisitive look. 

“I thought I asked you to think about it.”

“Well, I’m not really good at that sort of thing.”

“Oh?” Scylla said whilst swirling her finger around the rim of her glass. 

“What are you good at?”

Raelle glared at her with her signature “god I hate you” stare. 

“Well, um, I’m a writer.”

“What kind of writer.”

“Poetry.”

Scylla feigned a gasp.

“Women can’t be poets!”

Raelle again rolled her eyes. 

“But seriously that’s so cool. That helps me.”

“With what?”

“Your painting.”

“How?”

“The more I know the better I can capture you. A normal portrait is just the image of someone. I wish to capture your essence. Stupid, I know.”

“That’s not stupid.”

The way Raelle talked felt so sincere to her it almost hurt. It had been a long time since someone cared to wonder about her work. Wonder about her. Everything was always so face value, and here was Raelle who seemed to always be looking just beneath the surface. 

Both girls were startled by the door slamming open.

“Raelle! You’re late again! I told you what would happen if this happened again.”

Raelle seemed to shrink down in her chair, and Scylla just stared at the woman who just entered the dining room. She was tall and broad with scars in all the right places. Her clothes were daunting. She wore a dark black shirt tucked into gray trousers. She had a light leather armor over her shirt for reasons Scylla could only wildly imagine. Her boots were the shiniest shoes she had ever seen. She was dressed for combat, and Scylla could tell she wasn’t a force to be reckoned with. The wicked saber that hung from her belt cut through Scylla at just a glance. When she made eye contact with Scylla, she could tell why Raelle looked so desperate to get away.

“Who are you?”

“Scylla Ramshorn. I’m a painter.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to paint Raelle’s portrait.”  
The woman started to laugh. 

“So you’re the latest distraction for Raelle.”

Scylla could feel her cheeks turning red.

“Anacostia, it wasn’t her fault.”

“I don’t care who’s at fault. Be outside in two minutes.”

Anacostia blasted back through the doors like a storm and was gone. 

“She was a load of fun,” Scylla exhaled.

“Well, she’s pissed at me so I’d better go,” Raelle replied with a hurried tone. She left the room frantically. She obviously respected (or feared) Anacostia, and Scylla could see why. Her presence felt like a pressure, similar to the feeling of a big storm coming. Scylla felt smaller than she ever had. 

After a few moments to collect herself, Scylla gathered up her and Raelle’s bowls and headed for what she presumed was the kitchen. She practically slammed into Tally who was on her way out. 

“Oh! Ms. Ramshorn, I apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it, and Scylla please. Ms. Ramshorn makes me feel old,” Scylla replied. Tally just laughed.

“Of course.”

Tally took notice of the bowls in Scylla’s hands and started to scramble to grab them. 

“Scylla, don’t worry about these.”

Scylla playfully grabbed the bowls back. 

“I’m not above helping.”

Tally seemed confused and resigned for a second but seemed satisfied. 

“Well, that’s very kind if you.”

Scylla smirked. 

“It’s nothing.”

Tally gathered up the rest of the dishes, and led Scylla off to the kitchen. She guessed right about the door. The kitchen was already busy making another meal. Gerit was busy plucking chicken feathers, and Adil was carefully peeling potatoes. He noticed when Scylla walked in with Tally and glared at her. Scylla leaned over and whispered to Tally, “I don’t think he likes me.” Tally sighed and replied, “His little sister is sick. He’s not been in a good mood.” Scylla looked back at him, and in a moment of clarity, empathized deeply with him. There was one other staff member Scylla hadn’t met, and she was currently washing dishes. 

“Oh, Scylla, this is Glory. She’s the chef. She’s amazing!”

Glory turned around to face Scylla whilst drying her hands with a towel. 

“You’re goddamn right I’m amazing. I’m the best chef south of the Mason-Dixon.”

Scylla just laughed. 

“I believe it. What do you need help with?”

Glory seemed stunned for a second that Scylla was offering to help. None of Alder’s previous guests would even stand to enter the kitchen. She glanced over at Tally who just shrugged. 

“Well, if you finish the dishes for me I can start lunch,” Glory replied. Scylla grabbed the towel with a flourish. 

“Say no more.”

While Scylla got started on the dishes, Tally and Glory started working on lunch. Glory mumbled over to Tally,

“She’s kinda weird.” 

Tally shook her head. 

“Artists.”

* * *

Raelle was tired. And sweaty. It wasn’t the sweat that was bothering her very much. What was bothering her was Anacostia. 

“Again.”

She called over and over. Each time Raelle would raise her saber and attack, and every time Anacostia would strike her down into the dirt. She hated having to wear the dress. Fighting was always so much easier back in Indiana when she could wear pants. But without fail, Raelle would mumble curses, trip over herself, and get back up. Anacostia seemed to admire that about her. She never gave up. The sweat in her eyes and her screaming muscles begged her to stop, but she kept running at her mentor without flinching. For the ninth time, Anacostia struck her to the earth. Raelle stood up ready to fire off another attack, but Anacostia held up her hand. 

“Stop.”

Raelle planted the tip of her saber into the dust and leaned on it for support. She tried her best to remove the sweat from her eyes. Anacostia walked over to her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. 

“What are you doing?”

“Fencing,” Raelle grumbled. Anacostia stepped back. 

“No. You are running at your adversary with reckless abandon. That’s how you get killed.”

“I don’t think this is that kind of fencing.”

Anacostia lost herself for a second and became mere moments away from slapping the shit eating grin off Raelle’s face, but with some deep breaths, she pulled herself together. 

“Raelle, this is not just about fencing. It’s about discipline and self control.”

Raelle was barely paying attention because she saw Scylla slip out onto the porch. Anacostia noticed Raelle’s wandering gaze and called out to Scylla:

“You’re not going to be a distraction are you.”

Scylla sat down on one of the porch chairs with her sketchbook in her lap. 

“I think that’s up to Raelle,” Scylla mused. 

Raelle felt her already elevated heart rate jump. That couldn’t be good. Raelle knew she had to be on her best behavior now. Getting knocked on her ass was worse when there were people watching. This person is an artist who could immortalize her foolishness. Raelle glanced one last time at Scylla. She was staring intensely at Anacostia and Raelle with her pencil ready to sketch. Raelle took a deep breath and focused back in on Anacostia. 

“Ready? Again.”

This time Raelle thought about her moves. 

Parry. 

Thrust. 

Riposte. 

They’re sabers flashed in the morning light. Raelle, although growing fatigued, refused to let her guard down. She lost herself in the rhythm of the fight. The words for her moves buzzed in her head like a tornado of bees. 

Thrust. 

Backstep. 

Thrust. 

Slash!

Anacostia stumbled backward holding up her hand in defeat. A small red stain appeared on her arm. She held it tightly, and Raelle rushed forwards letting saber fall into the dust. 

“Anacostia, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. Here let me help.”

Anacostia pushed her away and looked over at her. 

“That was very good, Collar. Let your emotions and pain fuel your fight.”

Raelle felt overheated and delirious. Anacostia seemed to notice the girl growing woozy. 

“Scylla!” Anacostia called out. Scylla popped her head up from her sketchbook in such a cartoonish way it made Raelle laugh. 

“Please help Raelle inside.”

Scylla slammed her book closed and rushed over to the two. She grabbed hold of Raelle and glanced over at Anacostia. 

“You’re hurt,” Scyll said. 

“I’ll be fine. Take her inside.”

Scylla was in no position to fight her, injured or not. 

“Come on you,” Scylla grunted pulling the delirious Raelle’s arm over her shoulder. Scylla started to walk them inside, and when they made it to the porch Raelle asked, “What were you sketching.” Scylla opened the door to the house and helped Raelle inside. 

“Oh,” she replied mischievously, “something I can practice with

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter name and summary are stupid. I couldn’t think of anything better :/


End file.
